


Attached

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cousy RomFest 2k17, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Framework, Friends to Lovers, Handcuffs, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Male-Female Friendship, Office Sex, Pretty much feather lite, Resolved Sexual Tension, Trust, Trust Issues, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 08:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Daisy puts Coulson in handcuffs in the Framework and the metaphor sticks. Written for Cousy RomFest 2k17 - DAY 1 · 27 March, ‘Attached’





	

"Stop."

He twists around, a blur of tweed, as she jerks him towards her with both hands, pulling him behind her, and holstering her gun.

Then she gets her footing and kicks out, sends the desk chair in front of them flying, hard enough to shatter the glass window and pass out of sight to the sidewalk below.

He watches her with a look of confusion, and possibility, as if he thinks she might somehow make them both take the same leap.

She doesn't have her powers here, and she's still getting used to Coulson looking at her as something dangerous, unpredictable.

Just as he's about to offer a comment, she jerks him into the open closet, then turns and drives him up against the door.

It shuts with the force of their bodies together, and she lifts up their hands, attached with handcuffs between them, to cover his mouth.

The footsteps come following after, and she waits patiently, feeling him breathing against her fingers.

Wondering if he'll give them away, even though she doesn't want to believe he would ever trust _them_. His heart is beating rapidly, she can feel his pulse jump out at her where her thumb rests on his neck.

Their pursuers are casing the room, confirming over coms. Low-level HYDRA operatives, sent to find a high school teacher before she got to him first.

He huffs against her fingers, when they hear the sounds of movement beyond the door grow more distant, she moves her hand away, hears the audible sound of him wetting his lips like his mouth went dry.

She feels awful. He must be terrified.

"Sitting ducks?! What an incredible spy strategy," he rushes out in a shaken whisper.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she answers him, trying not to smile at his posturing. "But I couldn't risk you taking that landing."

"I could've made the jump," he protests. "Especially without these."

He lifts the handcuffs between them and rattles them lightly.

"I'm sorry," she says, for the second time. The first was when she put them on him. "You had so many questions, and there was no time. It was the only way to convince you-"

"By kidnapping me?!" he interrupts, a little too loudly, and she pushes up against him and shushes him.

It works. At least for a moment, as he shifts uncomfortably against her, squirming.

So unlike the Coulson she knows. Whatever Aida did to him, to _them_ , it's like he's almost a different person.

She has to believe he's still in there. It's what she keeps telling herself. _Believe_.

"At least I didn't put a bag over your head," she jokes, hitting on something that should be familiar between them.

"Oh, I'm so grateful," he replies dryly. "Is that what you usually do?"

"Coulson, if I were HYDRA, would I be running from them? Trying to keep them from finding you?"

"If you were trying to make me think that you're not HYDRA, by telling me you are HYDRA, but you're really not? Maybe."

"Is that so?" she smiles in the dark, lowering their hands and pushing slightly against his chest to put some distance between them.

"What's my next move, then?"

He says nothing, but shifts again, sliding his body higher against the door. "I don't know."

"Your _very_ active imagination suddenly went _inactive_?" she accuses him, teasing in her voice.

"It's dark in here," he says, voice flat. Controlled. More like the man she knows. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me, but, since you're so interested in earning my trust, you could start by getting rid of these."

He gives the handcuffs a tug. Nothing aggressive, but obviously testing.

"I don't have the key on me," she says, leaning forward to put her fingers on the door handle. "It was going to be them or us."

"Us?" he breathes out, lowering his face near hers, sounding confused again as she draws her weapon.

She pushes opens the door behind him slowly, and glances up at him in the light just long enough to catch his eyes searching her face.

"Come on," she tugs at where they're attached, drawing him out of the closet after her. "Before the clean up crew arrives."

"Where are you planning on taking me?" he asks, following after her as she leans out to search the school hallway.

"Some place safe."

  
###

 

  
"Seriously?"

She waited until they had some night cover before approaching, but standing here on the street even in the dark isn't a great strategy.

There are eyes everywhere, and he's stalling.

"I think I reported a van like this for hanging around the school once."

"Get in, Coulson," she tells him, rolling her eyes and ducking his head before helping him up into the van.

It's kind of funny how the tables are turned here. Coulson being kidnapped into a van by _her_.

Not exactly her van. More like, borrowed from a security guard, and, none of this is real, she keeps reminding herself.

She tosses her hair out of her face and jerks at the handcuffs to pull him up into the front with her.

"You can't be serious?" he asks, when she sits down in the passenger seat.

"You'll look really conspicuous sitting on my lap if I drive," she sighs, leaning back in the seat and turning over her shoulder to him.

He's staring around at the back of the van, scanning it. "You're sure you're a spy?" he asks slowly, staring down at the mess.

"Hey," she mentions tugging at him again. "Stop stalling. You know, whatever you're thinking, it'll be a lot harder to do that carrying around my dead weight."

That makes him pause and narrow his eyes at her behind his glasses, glaring at her, as she bites at her bottom lip and smiles.

Then he concedes and moves into the front seat as she reaches above him and grabs the keys out from behind the visor, dumps them into his hand as he sighs deeply.

"You're disappointed, aren't you?" she asks, as it clicks. In a happy sort of way. "That I don't have some fast, sexy car or some cool spy gadgets?"

"My car is cooler than yours, and I'm a high school teacher," he tells her, lolling his head in her direction and inserting the keys.

"Lola," she mentions, as the surprise registers on his face.

"You got that from a file," he says it dismissive, but disturbed, and turns the ignition.

"It is in your HYDRA file," she admits. That is true. Also, his favorite ice cream, which was unexpected. "But, I know Lola. I've actually driven her."

He starts the car and gives her a smug look, as he pulls away. "No you haven't."

She doesn't want to take advantage, but she tells him to make a right just when her curiosity gets the better of her. "Why is that?"

"It's personal," he says, then tries to draw her attention back to giving him directions.

"You never make any exceptions?"

"Not yet," he says, then glances over at her sharply when she doesn't reply.

"Good to know." Leaning forward and turning on the radio, she plays with the tuner, finding the choices unpleasant. "Is this Ted Nugent?"

"He's _huge_. Do we have to listen to that?" he asks. Then she lands on a channel with a pre-recorded speech.

"I'm taking a crash-course in HYDRA propaganda," she sighs, putting her feet up on the dashboard. "You think you can help me?"

"I thought you said that you _were_ -"

"It's complicated," she interrupts, licking her lips. "You know how I asked in your office, if things didn't seem right?"

"Yes," he nods. "Right before you made things _definitely_ not right. Do you even know where the keys to these are?"

"No," she admits, looking over at where their wrists are attached. "I grabbed them out of this van, it was all kind of last minute, but you saw what a slob this guy is."

"This isn't even your van?!" he asks, braking harder than necessary at the red intersection light as she leans out an arm against his chest protectively.

He gives her a strange look, but also a bit cocky, like he's got some kind of dirt on her now.

"I borrowed it. You should see my _other_ van."

 

###

 

 

"I can't believe this safehouse doesn't even have a hacksaw. Or a file!"

"Just...stop."

She slams the door of the cabinet in frustration and turns back over her shoulder at him, his hand raised calmly to her.

When she thought that this might somehow let her get closer to him, this isn't what she had in mind.

They've looked everywhere in this place and now she just wants to be alone for a moment, to think this through.

"I'm sorry."

"You already said that," he tells her, leaning his head back against the wall and taking off his glasses to press his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

He's exhausted, and she is, too. It's been a long day and he still doesn't trust her. Why should he? He can't remember anything.

And she kidnapped him.

"How did you find this place? Since it's not HYDRA's."

"The resistance. It's SHIELD's. And I hacked until I found what I needed, okay? While my fake boyfriend ate his fake dinner, in our fake apartment, I hacked on my fake laptop. Hacking my way through this fake life."

He gets very still and quiet, probably thinking she's unstable and trying to figure out how to get as far away from her as possible.

"I do know that you clearly believe what you're saying is true. I don't know how I can help you, though."

This is going to be where he makes his bid to get away from her, she can already see it coming.

"Yes, you can," she tells him, stepping closer, wanting to touch the front of his rumpled shirt. "I just need you to wake up."

"I don't even know your name," he says, furrowing his brow, and putting his hand on her wrist where they're connected, so that she'll stop moving about.

She keeps forgetting. Why did she expect him to just understand her? She wishes she had told him on the other side how much that means to her.

Did he understand that when she said that she missed him, this is part of what she meant?

So many things she wished she had said. _Stupid_.

"Daisy," she finally says, in a small voice.

"Daisy," he repeats, like he's feeling it out, and leans down so she'll make eye contact with him. "I think I saw some food in the kitchen. Want to talk about it more...over dinner?"

She can't help but feel relieved at the thought, and he gives her a small smile.

It's exactly what she needs.

He leads her with him into the kitchen and starts to pull out pots and pans, gets canned food out of the cabinet.

Not that she can quite stay out of his way, but it's a nice distraction from all of this...confusion.

It reminds her of home.

 

###

 

 

She wakes up and feels the dull ache at the back of her head, and touches there to make sure it's not serious.

Then she sits up and notices the file next to the broken chain of the handcuffs.

"That little..."

Her hands bunch up the bedcovers beneath her hands in frustration, and she scans the room quickly, checking for anything that's been disturbed.

There's a little piece of paper set on the kitchen counter, and she crawls out of bed and makes her way to it. With a cup of cold instant coffee next to it.

She starts to laugh to herself, as she folds it up in her hand, and puts it in her jeans pocket.

Just a few words, but enough to give her hope.

At least now she can take a fake shower.

 

###

 

 

  
"Trust me?"

His eyebrows are raised at her, a cocky look on his face as he stares back at her over his shoulder.

It takes her back, right to that moment in the Framework.

Maybe she shouldn't have put the handcuffs on him. She should've trusted him and now he knows.

He looks a little beaten and bruised, but there is a sparkle of familiarity in his eye, here on the outside.

What he wants to do is dangerous, and she can't go running into it with him. She has other work to do.

She just got him back.

She lets him go.

And believes.

He'll come back to her.

 

###

 

 

  
"Where did you find those?" she laughs, incredulously, as he swings them around a finger.

"They're vintage. Old SSR stuff," he says, pushing the box aside and then tossing them to her.

She stops looking into the file before her and catches them with both hands.

They're following up on a lead they got from inside the Framework. Just a hunch, but it's more of a side project and not something they're setting SHIELD resources upon yet.

There's plenty of other things to do, like repair the other side of the base and fully dismantle all the Quake Bots.

The idea that there's a connection between the Darkhold's appearance, and other objects SHIELD has come across. The Tesseract. Loki's Scepter. The connection to death and rebirth.

Nothing like digging through a little creepy secret history on a rainy Sunday afternoon, since the SSR files are still in their analogue state.

But now her mind is on other things.

"They look like they still work," she says, opening one end, noticing there's a bit of patina on them from age. "Did you happen to see the key with-"

"No," he says, appearing by her side, and she hears the click of it on his wrist, and watches him slowly close the other end over hers, a little amused expression on his face.

"Very funny," she tells him, with a tilt of her head. "Where's the key?"

He just shrugs at her innocently, and watches her closely, as she pulls on the link between them.

"They're vintage," she says smugly, stepping closer to him. "You love old crap. You know where the key is."

"You should trust me," he tells her, moving against her, until she can feel the desk pressing into her thighs from behind.

I mean, if this is how he wants to address this? Now?

Okay.

Pulling on his shirt until their mouths are together, she feels his hand on her wrist, pushing it down between them, so he can get both hands on her legs, as he lifts her onto the desk, banging it against the wall.

He has to know, the way she's kissing him. She's so in love with him, and she almost lost him again.

She wraps her legs around him, trapping him against, her trying to show him, as his lips part and he sighs against her cheek, lowers his face to push it into the hollow of her neck, like he can't decide if he wants to hug her or-

Then his mouth is against her neck, releasing a moan out of somewhere deep in her chest, and he hums against her, his hands restless all over her body. All she can do is try to keep them balanced, from tumbling together right off the desk.

The handcuffs get in the way again, after she slips her tongue into his mouth and he tries to go immediately for the button of her jeans, while she just wants to pull him closer to her and keep kissing him like this.

It should be annoying, but it's kind of fun; stopping and thinking about this level of cooperation while he's wanting to...do things to her.

They work it out as he gets her jeans and underwear down and then goes to the floor to pull them down as far as they need to go, and she touches his hand, the chain where they're attached, and then hears the rattle of the links as her fingers land on his hair, his face pressed between her thighs.

The trust between them, it's what makes this so good. Her mind isn't scattered in a million places, or worrying about what happens _after_.

She doesn't have to worry. It's Coulson.

He starts to slow things down, to take his time finding out what she wants, all of the curiosity in his nature applied to her in the moment, right at the core of her, where the pressure and heat is building, and she suddenly wants to look at his mouth. His hot sweet, sexy mouth with the happy little smile on it.

It's too soon to say it, but he's staring up at her, like he's just anticipating whatever comes next.

"Come here."

He gets to his feet, as she helps him with the handcuffs, then lets her take his belt apart, watches as her hands touch his stomach beneath his shirt, pull apart his jeans and underwear until she has him in her hand.

"Daisy," he tells her, after swallowing. She knows he's going to say that he's not going to last, or something like that. It's pretty obvious.

"I just want you inside me."

She meets his eyes, and wraps her free arm around him, his other hand balancing his weight as he pushes inside of her, their handcuffed hands touching on the desk top.

He moves against her, slow, and she drinks in all the sounds he's making, opening up to her, letting her inside of him, and she can feel them starting to move together, holding each other and trying not to tremble from it.

He does last. Long enough for both of them.

She listens to the sound of the rain on one of the windows, the quiet twinkle of the handcuffs as she stirs to touch his face where it's resting over her heart.

Just a moment. A blink in the grand scheme of things.

Fishing around in his shirt pocket, he finally finds what he's looking for, puts the key in the lock and turns it with a tiny click.

"They _are_ a collectible," he admits, slipping it off her wrist and rubbing the skin there where it's reddened.

"We don't need them," she tells him, her hand against the front of his shirt, where she can feel the raised scar beneath her fingertips.

"We're already attached."

He kisses her again.


End file.
